Azar restrained the urge to straighten her spine or shiver in response to the Trickster currently dancing about the edges of her personal space. She snarled under her breath and heard a soft laugh from behind her. She walked a few more steps and sensed more than she heard the Trickster still trailing behind her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, drawing to a halt nearby the stairs leading to her loft. The Trickster had developed this irritating habit of working with her whenever she was on her trapeze and then following her about the bataclan. It was starting to become truly disconcerting to the trapeze artist, wondering what had caught the eye of Kooza's solitary creator.

She turned, intending to ask the enigmatic man exactly that when she found him standing less than a foot away and watching her with eyes that seemed to glitter in the low lights. Azar stared up at him, her own eyes darkening with caution. The Trickster smirked at her wary expression before looking down, at her hands, which were clenched into tight fists. He reached out his hand and caught one of hers, bringing it up and smoothing her fingers out. He traced over rough calluses, souvenirs of her time spent on the trapeze and glanced up, lips curving into a gentler smile.

Azar watched him, curious as to what he wanted. The Trickster lowered his gaze back to her hand and raised it further, pressing a soft kiss to her palm where the calluses faded away to smoother skin. Azar did shiver then, feeling unsure of herself for the first time in a long, long time. White eyes gleamed as the Trickster pulled back, his expression softened. "….Your move," he murmured before fading back into the shadows of the bataclan soundlessly.

AN: I liiiiive! As promised, the series of drabbles/oneshots dedicated to the beginning of Sarkan and Azar's relationship within my Koozaverse. I'll post a new chapter a day unless I'm so swamped by school work that I pull my head out of the books only to go to bed.